Something New
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: Second in the Something More verse. Featuring the events of the eight season finale, and a surprising discovery that will shock an agency. COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

EJ Barrett felt the cold steel of the un-silenced weapon pressing against her jugular, and felt the equally icy chill of certain doom wash over her. She'd been overwhelmed, thwarted at a game that was meant to be hers, and now she would pay the ultimate price.

But just as she heard the sound of the trigger scrape towards the hilt, the weight on top of her was ripped away. The gun discharged, deafening her, but the bullet slammed into the drywall next to her instead of her skull. Adrenaline forced her up the moment the pressure on her chest disappeared, and seeing the blur of two shadowy shapes wrestling for possession of the gun, she fumbled to her knees. Her fingers brushed a stray piece of rebar lying on the unfinished floor, and she clutched it instinctively. And then, almost without thinking, she swung, belatedly hoping she was swinging at the shadow that _wasn't_ her savior.

The rebar connected with reverberating satisfaction. The motion dizzied her though, and she tumbled to her side in a pitiful loss of motor control. The shadow she hit tumbled as well, flinching away from the blow. And when it slunk off a moment later, leaving the second shadow behind, she knew that it was Cobb.

She tried to pursue, knew that she couldn't let him escape, but her body remained stubbornly unresponsive, her ears ringing and a pain in her head telling her she must have hit it when she'd been tackled. She blinked, and the next moment she was looking up at the desperate features of Levin. His hand tapped her cheek, and his lips moved, but all she could hear was indistinct mumbling. It took her a moment, but eventually she realized that there were other people in the background, moving and flashing lights everywhere.

And then Levin pulled away briefly, only to be replaced by a visage that instantly put her at ease—Tony. He eyes were scared, terrified, and she tried to tell him she was okay. She must have succeeded, because a moment later he was smiling. He stayed with her until she was loaded into the ambulance, but he didn't get in with her.

She wished he had, but was glad he didn't—it was up to him to find Cobb now. Him and Gibbs.

She could only hope they killed the bastard.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This is currently ongoing. I know I shouldn't get involved in another fic right now, but... I just couldn't help myself. It was this or my head exploded from final exam stress. Plus, I've been neglecting you guys a bit lately (I'm trying to balance Sanctuary with NCIS- those fans who like both get the best of both worlds). So here yah go!_

_Oh, and while I'm making EJ human in this fic, she's not going to get off the hook of fan outrage nationwide THAT easy. Just read and find out. I dare yah!_


	2. Chapter 2

The ride to the agency was silent.

The abandoned building Cobb had lured Barrett's team to had yielded no clue as to where Cobb might have gone. But according to Levin—who'd gotten away with a shoulder wound while Cade and Barrett had a bullet to the thigh and a severe concussion, respectively— Cobb was injured.

The bastard was shot, and now sporting either a concussion or a broken rib or, at the very least, a significant bruise. If he knew Cobb, and he was now beginning to believe he did, Gibbs figured he would be holing up somewhere, patching himself up and resting before he tried to finish the job.

Cobb _would_ try to finish the job. He was compelled to, courtesy of the training he'd received from their friends at the CIA.

Gibbs slid a concerned glance to the woman sitting in the seat beside him, the car's only other occupant.

Ziva had been quiet, ever since she'd seen Franks on the autopsy table. She'd been shaken, and he hadn't been surprised. Franks had become a friend to her—she'd even visited Mexico on her own, for the sole purpose of catching up with the crotchety old man and the young ladies he shared a bungalow with. He was family, and now he was gone.

Gibbs knew that she was thinking of Leyla and the baby, wondering what would happen to them. No doubt she was even making plans to help provide for them. Leyla had gotten a job in the cantina, but the money wouldn't be enough to support both of them. And now that Franks wasn't around to watch Amira, it would be even more difficult for her to work.

But there was something else weighing on her. The shadow in her eyes was more than grief—it was doubt.

The videos from MTAC flashed through his mind, and his heart sank like a stone. The CIA had been making assassins, and Ziva—despite her reluctance, or lack of choice—had been one for Mossad. Had _she_ gone through training like that? Had she been brutalized, even tortured, to shape her into the perfect instrument of death?

He wanted to believe even Eli wouldn't allow that to happen to his daughter, but deep down he knew that Eli was unlikely to have intervened. If that kind of training was part of the regimen for potential Komemiute officers, then Ziva had gone through it.

Dread settled in his gut like a cement block, as he reached out and gently gripped her hand in his. She squeezed back, but her features remained heavy, and she didn't look at him.

"Mike went out with his boots on, Ziver." He voice was gravelly, betraying his own lingering grief.

She nodded. "The only way he would have been happy with," she agreed, her words thick. "Do you remember Leyla's story? About the dog?"

Yeah. He remembered. All too well.

"Leyla told me that Mike had…" Her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat. "He told her he didn't want to be that dog, Jethro. He wanted to go out with a fight. He didn't want to just lie down and die."

She swiped viciously at the moisture trailing down her cheeks. "But it doesn't make it any easier for the rest of us."

Gibbs sighed, and held her hand tighter. "No… It doesn't."

It really didn't.

For a long, long moment, silence fell over them. Punctuated only by her mournful attempts to hide her tears, the quiet rang in Gibbs' ears, and before long, his mind urged him to ask the question he really didn't want to know the answer to. As she calmed, the urge grew stronger, and in a moment of uncharacteristic impulse, he spoke.

"Ziver…"

Sensing the shift in tone, she turned to face him, twisting uncomfortably in her seat to do so.

He hesitated, but powered through his apprehension. "Kort showed his footage of Cobb's training… what he went through to become what the CIA wanted him to be." Her eyes darkened even more, and Gibbs saw the walls start to come up. "Did you…?"

He tried, but he couldn't voice the words he needed to.

"Training is rigorous for any military," she stated, her voice hard and clearly resistant to sharing details.

The brusqueness of her non-response suggested that his suspicions were correct—but he'd experienced the same reluctance to share with other Marines too. Gibbs was prepared to let the subject rest at that, but a moment later, Ziva's features softened, and she sank back into her seat, drawing in on herself.

"I do not remember much of my training," she admitted softly. "The lessons stay with you, but the methods…" He knew what she meant. He remembered everything he learned in basic training, but the horror stories… not so much. "I don't know whether I simply pushed it from my mind, or…"

"You were too young." The words burned him as they slipped from his lips, and he hated himself even more when she didn't refute him.

She shrugged. "Whatever the reason… the truth is that I could have just as easily turned out to be exactly like Cobb. I _was_ like Cobb. He hunts people—I hunted people. He's an assassin, just like me."

"You're—"

He meant to say 'nothing like him', but another epiphany exploded in his brain with nearly blinding intensity. Because she was right—horrifyingly right. Everything fell into place, and the confusion as to _why_ disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Cobb wasn't researching _him._ Promotion had nothing to do with it. Cobb didn't feel a kinship with _him_.

It was Ziva.

The visits to NCIS, the recon outside his house, it was to learn more about _her_. Somehow Cobb had discovered their relationship, and knew that she was going to go to Gibbs' house that night. The kinship was assassin to assassin, wounded bird to wounded bird. He was Ziva, and Ziva was him, comrades in arms.

"Jethro?"

Her voice broke through his revelation, and the sound of it nearly made him sick. But he gripped her hand tighter, clutching her like a lifeline.

"Jethro, please… you're scaring me…" A cool hand cupped the back of his neck, bringing him back to her.

He looked to her concerned brown eyes, and swallowed thickly.

"We need to talk to Vance."

* * *

><p><em>AN: So... this story is kinda like Swan Song, wherein Barrett's influence is little more than exposition, while Team Gibbs displays all the substance. :D Teehee, I'm evil, kinda..._


	3. Chapter 3

"I want her to have a security detail anytime she leaves the building." Gibbs' request was heavy and unyielding—a demand more than anything else.

"Agent Gibbs, you have no solid evidence that Cobb is even after her—"

"Kort's videos are _solid_, Leon! He's completely broken away from the rest of humanity, and the only person he could ever feel a kinship to is someone he thinks is _exactly_ like him. And that's exactly what Ziva is."

Vance gave a moment's pause, considering Gibbs' words. "How do you figure?"

"He knows this agency, and he knows my team. He knows that Ziva used to be Mossad, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what she did for them. Even if she hasn't through the same training as he did, she's seen the same things he has. Hell, she even left the people who created her, just like he did!"

His words hung in the open air, and Gibbs was distinctly aware that he was effectively painting a target.

"If what you say is true," Vance delivered carefully, "then wouldn't she be the one person in this Agency who'd be safe from Cobb?"

Gibbs shook his head. "He's not gathering information on her just to leave again. He's gonna approach her, and when he does, it's going to be all or nothing."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that he's gonna be looking for something from her, and I guarantee whatever it is, she's not going to play along. And when that happens, the protection of kinship is gone. He'll kill her."

For a long moment, Vance didn't say anything. Gibbs knew he was taking the information seriously though—he could see the Director he used to know emerge. The person Vance had become would have ignored him, sent him packing, but this Vance was nodding in confirmation.

"All right," Vance decided finally, getting to his feet. "I'll assign a detail to her. Have you told her all this?"

"Not yet. But I think she knows. She's been feeling it for a while."

Vance nodded. "Yeah… I bet." He tucked his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "I suggest you tell her before the detail shows up."

"I will." Gibbs turned to leave, but then turned back. "Any word on Barrett's team?"

"Barrett and Levin are stable, and Cade just came out of surgery, slated to make a full recovery. They each have security details as well, to be on the safe side."

Gibbs bobbed his head in approval. "Barrett's not going to want to stay off the case any longer than physically forced to."

"And I won't stop her," Vance told him. "You have lead on this case now, but she'll stay on it as long as she's not a liability. She's earned that much."

Gibbs bit back a countering retort, and nodded wordlessly. Vance motioned that he could leave, and Gibbs took the opening, quickly exiting the office. Trotting down the stairs, he discovered Ziva in the same place he'd left her, sitting at her desk.

She looked up at his approach, her eyes shadowed.

"Vance has assigned a protective detail," he delivered firmly, cutting straight to heart of the matter.

She didn't look surprised. "For me?"

He nodded. "We think Cobb is going to come for you next."

"But I'm not chasing him any more than you are…"

He shook his head. "Not as prey. A partner, or… something. But he's set his sights on you, and I'm not going to let him get anywhere near you." The last was spoken in little more than a murmur, telling her exactly how serious he was.

Cobb had made it personal, unwittingly or not.

"Chaka…"

Her voice was soft, so soft Gibbs barely heard it. "What?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with sudden concern. "Chaka. He's at the apartment. If Cobb is after me, and he was at your house to watch for me, then he's got to know about my apartment… If he goes there, Chaka will attack him, and if that happens—"

Cobb would have absolutely no qualms about shooting a dog. But it could already be too late, and Cobb could be lying in wait.

"Ziva…"

"I'm not going to let him kill my dog, Gibbs."

Her razor-sharp tone told him that arguing would be futile. If he forbade her, she would only find a way to get the mutt anyway, and leave her pissed at him to boot.

He sighed. "All right," he acquiesced. "I'll take you—"

"Boss!" DiNozzo's shout cut him off, and they both turned to face him. "Kort just called… he has a bead on Cobb."

Mild surprise washed over Gibbs at the fact Kort was willing to let them assist in the takedown, but in the end he looked back to Ziva. She nodded.

"Go. I will wait for the detail, and then I will get Chaka. He will be allowed in the building?"

"I'll clear it with Vance on the way out." He eyed her for a moment. "You promise you'll wait?"

She smirked. "Yes."

With a nod and a wink, he turned back to his two remaining agents. "Gear up. Let's go."

An hour later, they and half the agency were swarming the building Kort had indicated. All had been briefed, and this time, no one would get overwhelmed like Barrett had been. But as the search continued, and more and more of the building had been covered without a trace of Cobb, a shadow of nagging doubt stole over Gibbs.

He pulled back, and as his team moved on to the next floor, began to move outside. DiNozzo and McGee caught up to him, confusion clear across their features. "Boss, what are you doing-?"

"He's not here," he stated bluntly.

"How do you know that?" McGee asked.

Gibbs began to rip his Kevlar vest from his chest with brusque, angry movements. "It was too easy," he barked. "Even injured, he wouldn't have let us track so fast. He's not here, it was a lure. Another goddamn lure."

"But if he's not here, then where—?"

Gibbs froze, icy fear gripping his gut as realization set in. Then, just as quick as it took hold, he broke through, and pulled out his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. His heart pounded in his ears, nearly drowning out the sound of the other end ringing. As it rang once, twice, three times Gibb's apprehension grew.

Just as he was about to motion for DiNozzo to call Vance, the speaker in his ear clicked, signaling that she'd finally picked up.

But it wasn't Ziva's voice that greeted him.

"_Hello, Agent Gibbs…"_


	4. Chapter 4

Ziva led Agents Forrester and Benson up to her apartment. As far as agents went, they were competent enough, and they were not the stuffed shirts she'd anticipated they'd be. In fact, on the way over they'd gotten into the most ridiculous debate she'd ever borne witness to, and left Ziva in near tears with laughter, all over whether crunchy Cheetos were better than the new puffed version.

Even now, encroaching on her apartment, she was still fighting giggles. She waved them back as she moved to the familiar green door.

"You will want to wait out here," she warned them, pulling out her keys.

Forrester was the first to protest. "With all due respect, ma'am, the whole point we're here is to clear the room first."

"I understand that, but if you go in before I do, my dog will eat you," she countered. "I'm only trying to consider your safety here…" Benson met her grin with one of his own.

"Well, thanks very considerate of you ma'am, but we're thinking of yours, so…"

She rolled her eyes. "I could have already gotten Chaka and come back out by now," she told them, inserting her key into the lock. She motioned them to stay put, the action similar to the one she'd used to train Chaka. "Just, wait here—"

The door opened, and she got two steps inside before a dark blur swung towards her from behind the door. Something cracked against the back of her skull, blinding her and sending her to the floor as her legs instantly gave out. Behind her, she heard two shouts of alarm, before first one shot, then a second, sounded from somewhere above.

The last thought that flittered through her mind before she lost consciousness was that the gunman was using a silencer.

* * *

><p>She blinked her eyes open an unknown while later to a throbbing, pounding headache. Instinct kept her limp, to take inventory of her surroundings. Pushing the pain aside as best she could, she could hear heavy footsteps pacing across the hardwood. She detected a limp, confirming that her assailant was Cobb, as if she didn't already know.<p>

The footsteps silenced, and she deduced he had found a seat somewhere. Now, the room was deathly silent— her heart twisted in her chest at the thought of what he'd done to Chaka to make the dog so quiet.

A breeze passed across the back of her neck, and the wet chill it gave her told her that she was bleeding. There was a pinch around her wrists, the sensation now all too familiar. Her hands were cuffed, no doubt around a pipe leading to the defunct furnace she felt herself propped against.

Suddenly, the shrill shriek of a cell phone ringing clamored through the silence, forcing her to bite back a gasp at the unexpected pain that lanced through her skull. It rang twice more, before she heard a deep voice answer.

"Hello, Agent Gibbs…"

So it was her phone then. No doubt Kort's lead on Cobbs' location fell through. Imagine that.

"No need for the language, Agent Gibbs," Cobb said coolly. "She's here. In fact, she just woke up."

Heavy footsteps crossed to her, and she opened her eyes, giving up the pretense just as Cobb shoved the plastic phone against her cheek.

"Talk," he ordered brusquely.

Ziva winced, his voice grating against her growing migraine. But she could hear Jethro's voice vibrating down the line, desperately asking after her condition.

"I'm fine," she grunted. She couldn't tell if she was articulate or not. "Forrester and Benson—"

"—are dead," Cobb finished, pulling the phone back to his own ear. "And so is your girlfriend if you show up before I'm done here." Whatever Gibbs had to say to that was cut off a moment later. "Don't call me, I'll call you."

Ziva watched him flip the phone shut and toss it back onto the sofa. She was in her living room, she recognized, with no Chaka in sight. Her attention was drawn back to Cobb when he dropped to a crouch in front of her.

He looked at her, his eyes dark and piercing as he stared, searching for… something. He didn't ask her anything, didn't say anything.

In the end, she was the one who lost her patience.

"What do you want?"

His eyebrow twitched, as though surprised she didn't already know. "To talk to you," he said simply.

She would have rolled her eyes, but it hurt too much to even consider it. "So talk."

"You're not like the rest," he said, his voice… almost awed. "The other agents. Especially not that twig they sent to the building downtown. They're fake, hollow…"

"And you're not?"

He shrugged. "I've seen things—"

"Done things," she countered sharply. "There's a difference."

"That's what I'm saying, Ziva," he agreed, scooting forward earnestly. "We're different from everyone else. But _we_," he gestured between them, "_we _are the same."

"We're not."

"We are," he argued. "I read your file. You were trained to be a killer, stone cold and efficient. So was I. And like me, you left your makers behind… you struck out on your own, to make a name for yourself in your own right. That's all I did. And we're proving to them that we don't need to be kept on a leash to hack it."

Ziva's eyes narrowed, her headache muting her better judgement. "The difference between you and me, _Lieutenant_," she growled, petulantly emphasizing his now useless rank, "is that I left because I no longer wanted to hack it. Not because I _couldn't_."

She barely saw a snarl of anger flash across his features before pain exploded in her left cheek, the gun in his hand striking her face and sending her head careening against the metal furnace. She had less than a moment to clear her vision before the butt of the gun struck her again, in the exact same spot. And again, her head bounced off the furnace with sickening force, blackening her vision once more.

A groan escaped her, even as his hand curled around her throat. Flashes of desert and caffeine-tainted breath sped through her consciousness, but the voice in her ear was not accented, reminding her that he wasn't Saleem.

"Don't," he snarled, his lips close to her ear. "Do not deny what you are, Ziva. Do not be like the others, hiding behind ranks and undeserved titles, so fake that you could smelt them down into so much wax… They're fake. False. _Wrong_. They corrupt us, Ziva. Taint us."

Ziva struggled to keep her eyes open, but her hold on consciousness remained tenuous. Cobb released his hold on her throat with a short vicious push. The effort to hold her own head up was overwhelming, and she settled for resting it against the furnace.

She could hear Cobb continue to rant, but his words were muddled and indistinct as she felt her body slowly fall limp.

This time, unconsciousness took with no thought at all.


	5. Chapter 5

The moment the call ended, Gibbs was firing off orders, ending the search of the building.

"What do you think you're doing?" Kort demanded, storming over with his remaining eye twisted into a glare.

"He's not here, Kort," Gibbs told him. "Cobb played you."

"They haven't finished looking, you can't possibly know—"

Gibbs rounded on him, eyes flashing. "Yes, I can! I know, because I just talked to him on the goddamned phone! He's got my agent!"

"What's going on here?"

Both men turned to see Director Vance approaching, his eyes flashing at the blatant display of animosity at what was meant to be the takedown of the decade. Close on his heels was a newly released Agent Barrett, pale but determined.

"Cobb's not here," Gibbs told him. "He's got her." He didn't need to clarify any more than that.

"The security detail—"

"Dead, according to Cobb," Gibbs supplied.

"Did you get proof of life?"

Gibbs nodded. "He let me talk to her."

Vance absorbed the information. "Were able to gather anything about her condition?"

"She was alert, but exhibited signs of a possible concussion, or having been drugged, " he reported. "We've got to move quickly, sir. Knowing Ziva, she won't play along with his delusions for long, and as soon as he realizes she doesn't identify with him, he'll eliminate her as a threat."

The director nodded, his features solemn. "Recall the search teams and redeploy to Agent David's residence. We got an HR team on the premises?" Gibbs nodded. "Your team will take point with them."

"I'd like to request permission to join Agent Gibbs' team, Director," Agent Barrett spoke up. "I'm ready to put this bastard out of commission."

Vance regarded her for a moment, but then turned to Gibbs, bequeathing the decision to him. Gibbs turned to regard her for himself, visibly skeptical.

"You sure you're up for it, Agent Barrett?"

"Absolutely," she replied, without an iota of doubt.

Gibbs paused, but then nodded. "You take your orders from me," he told her. "No going off half-cocked on some damn vendetta for your agents, understand?"

"Loud and clear, sir." The honorific came without snark or sarcasm, Gibbs was satisfied to hear. And it was enough for him.

"Gear up," he told her. He looked to his agents, who stood shell-shocked at the sudden turn of events. Gibbs suddenly realized that he hadn't actually told them that they'd known Ziva might be targeted. Oh, well…

Too late for that now.

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>It took almost half an hour to get back across town.<p>

The quiet of Ziva's neighborhood was quickly shattered by the wailing of dozens of police sirens, all of them swarming the street her building sat on. They'd considered going in silent, but in the end, given the time delay, they hoped that Cobb would keep her alive if he thought he could use her to bargain with her.

They swiftly made their way up to her apartment, and the leader of the HR team motioned for Gibbs to make the call. Carefully, he obeyed, and inside they could hear the cell phone ringing. Gibbs put it on speaker phone, just as Cobb answered.

"I told you that I would be doing the calling, Agent Gibbs," the man said, his voice cold, but decidedly more vicious than the first time Gibbs had spoken to him.

"I want to speak to Ziva." No pretense, no false overtures of promising leniency.

Cobb chuckled. "Come in and see her for yourself."

The phone clicked off, and Gibbs looked to the HR leader with no small amount of trepidation. He didn't want to think about what he would find behind that door, but he couldn't _not_ find out. The HR team leader nodded, signaling that Gibbs and his team could enter first, and while his own men would enter after.

Gently, Gibbs turned the knob, and opened the door. Swiftly he moved in, weapon at the ready and his team—plus Barrett—following close behind. But he maintained a proper, non-threatening distance. The last thing they wanted to do was spook the man.

Especially when he was holding a gun to Ziva's head.


	6. Chapter 6

When Ziva woke up a second time, the pain in her skull had doubled. This time, she didn't bother playing possum—she twisted her wrists, testing the strength of the cuffs. She wouldn't have been surprised if they were the same cuffs she usually wore on her hip, next to her gun. Both, she figured, would be missing by now. She was just about to see if he'd found her lockpicking tools when he dropped down in front of her again.

"You have a concussion," he stated bluntly.

She almost rolled her eyes. "Yes," she returned snidely. "Thank you for that."

She expected another boxing across her ears for her irreverence. But she was surprised when, instead of a fist, her head encountered the chill relief of an ice pack. Cobb pressed it against her temple, and while it didn't ease the worst of the pain, the gentility of the act shocked her.

For a long moment, she let the cold numb the bruise on her temple. But eventually, her annoyance at the whole situation got the better of her.

"So," she croaked, "we talked." She fixed him with a baleful stare. "Now what?"

He gently adjusted the ice pack. "Now we leave."

"We?"

"I want you to come with me," he told her, his eyes glinting. "Together we'd be unstoppable, Ziva. We're made for each other. I can teach all you need to know—and together we'll have the world trembling at our feet."

Ziva scoffed, unable to hide her derision at his delusion. "I don't think so."

Cobb tensed, and when he spoke anger tinged his voice. "Why not? Don't you remember the thrill? That rush of victory when you know you've got your prey right where you want them… when you see the light leave their eyes, and you know that they're nothing more than an animal to your god."

"So… you think you're a god?"

"Aren't I? I decide who lives and who dies… I smite the unworthy, turn them to empty husks. Isn't that what gods do?"

She eyed him darkly. "Perhaps… with a thunderbolt or inexplicable illness." She straightened where she sat, squaring her shoulders against him. "But _not_ with a scalpel and a blitz attack in a dark alley. That is only reserved for cowards who don't have the strength or skill to face the person he's about to kill."

With a growl, the ice pack was snatched away. "What—"

"I saw your first kill," she continued. "The CIA recorded it, did you know that? Your target almost killed you instead when you came at him from the front. That's why you have to sneak up behind grown men and slit their throats. Because you can't handle them fighting back—you're too weak to overpower them if they retaliate."

"You—you don't know anything—" He was getting flustered, but with the gun still in his hand, that was more dangerous than anything else.

"Yes, I do. Because you were right. I was trained to kill, and I did. I killed a lot of people. Humans are the ultimate prey—they have the ability to outthink a hunter, to fight back. And they do. That's where the challenge lies." The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but she ignored it. "Every time I catch one of them unawares, every time I shot one from two hundred yards… they should have been more wary, when they'd chosen to do the things they did. They should have anticipated their retribution."

Cobb paused, then came closer. He was pulled back into his delusion. "See? You do know—"

"But it's different when your prey has no reason to expect you're coming. When your target has done nothing more criminal than wear a uniform. I never chose my targets, and if I did, you can trust me when I say I would make sure my target was more challenging than an unsuspecting sailor lured into an alley by a child's toy—"

"SHUT UP!"

The gun aimed towards her, shaking and twitching in his grip as he quivered with rage. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes shone with fury. His jaw worked soundlessly, too flustered to give voice to whatever was going through his mind.

Ziva waited, pleased that she'd rattled him. She was surprised to realize that she had been offended by Cobb's actions—that a man so trained had resorted to such tasteless tactics. She'd never thought she would take a sense of pride in her work—especially her wetwork—but she did. Cobb was a disgrace to the business, and he didn't even have the decency to know it.

"You—"

Whatever Cobb was going to finally say was cut off by the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. He fell silent, listening, and when they only drew closer, and more numerous, he cursed. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small silver key.

It clinked against the hardwood as he tossed to her. "Uncuff yourself."

She was slow in responding, but she did as she was told. As soon as one wrist was free, he ordered her to stand. Again she obeyed, but the change in elevation sent pain lancing through her head, and she stumbled.

Cobb caught her, and she reacted on instinct. Her hand shot out and knocked the gun from his hand. She managed to throw a punch, but it glanced of his jaw as he dodged, and then he retaliated with a vicious backhand that sent her sprawling.

Stars danced behind her eyes, and before she knew it Cobb was on top of her, recuffing her free wrist before yanking her back up to her feet. The world tilted around her, and she almost vomited from the dizzying motion.

Through the roaring in her ears she heard her cell phone ring again, and Cobb answered with the same brusqueness as he had the first time.

"Come in and see her yourself," he invited coldly, smugly, his rage gone.

Ziva sensed he had reached his endgame—he was calm, collected, and the gun pressed to the underside of her jaw told her that one or both of them would be dying that day.

"Stay very still," he murmured in her ear, as they both watched the doorknob turn. "They're gonna be trigger-happy—don't want to give them an excuse to shoot, do you?"

She didn't have a chance to respond before the door opened.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Okay, so... the review reply function is apparently broken... so here's some common issues that have been popping up. First off: I'm not in the habit of killing off animals. So Chaka is still alive. I'm not sure I'm gonna account for that yet, but he'll live. Second off: Well, there is no second off. That's about it. Chaka will live, and the Zibbs is about to come back into play :) Enjoy!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Here we go. Shout out to Clairebear: If you don't get the background of this story, go check out Something More on my profile page. It'll definitely keep you occupied til this one is complete, and it's full of Zibbs-y goodness. Same goes for anyone else who has no idea who Chaka is._

_Now... On with the show! Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Gibbs met Cobb's superior smirk with a baleful, but carefully schooled stare.<p>

The bastard was using Ziva as a human shield—he was hiding behind her with gun to her chin, his hand heavy on the back of her neck to keep her in place. But it was the state of Ziva's condition that made Gibbs' gut burn with anger.

She was visibly disoriented, if her sluggish blinking and bloodied cheek was anything to go by. Her hands were cuffed in front of her, but he doubted she was well enough to take advantage of the not-so-stringent restraint. But she tracked his movement as he moved deeper into the apartment, giving the others space to come in behind him. Even so, there wasn't room for the HR team to enter as well—they remained stuck in the corridor outside.

"Gibbs…" she murmured, only to have Cobb dig the muzzle of the gun deeper into her jaw.

"No need to put on a show for me, Ziva," he drawled. "We're all honest people here, aren't we… Jethro?"

Off to his right, Gibbs heard McGee swallow—confusion was setting in.

"The only show here is you, Jonas," Gibbs countered, refusing to let him dig under his skin. "You wanna end it? Let Agent David go, put down your weapon, and we'll take you into custody."

"See?" DiNozzo chimed in. "Easy peasy."

Cobb's attention shifted to the younger agent. "Agent DiNozzo…" he smirked. "And Agent Barrett. I'm surprised they let you in on this party."

"Hate to break it to you, Cobb, but you didn't do as much damage you thought you did," Barrett answered, her weapon trained on the smirk lurking over Ziva's shoulder.

But instead of backing down, the smirk only grew. "That wasn't what I meant," he told her, a laugh in his voice. "I meant that you really have no business being here, do you? I mean… how long have you been looking for me? And you only made progress in the last week—when Agent Gibbs got involved. As far as I can see, you haven't done anything besides put your two agents in the hospital…"

"_You_ put my agents in the hospital, you son of a bitch." The woman's voice was full of rage, and Gibbs could hear her control start to falter.

Cobb heard it too. "Well, yeah… but you were the one who fell for the lure. You'd been on the case since Spain, and you still played right into it. So, really… was it me?" He pressed his face against Ziva's his lips next to her ear. "You said it was different when the prey ought to know someone is after them—you were right. Don't you think she should have known better?"

"Shut up!" Barrett broke formation, taking a menacing step forwards, her grip tightening on her gun.

"Stand down, Agent Barrett…" Gibbs warned, alarm flooding his system.

"Yes, stand down, Barrett," Cobb mimicked. "Put your gun away and slink out with your tail between your legs. You're in the presence of far superior agents, after all. They're almost gods compared to you. They found me in weeks, when you couldn't get anywhere in six months. I think I should have a chat with your Director about his choice of lead agents…"

His soliloquy was halted by the ominous click of a safety switching off. Gibbs' eyes flicked to the woman, and saw that her weapon was suddenly steady, and deathly still.

He knew the scene was about to go bad, and he was acutely aware that Ziva was smack in the middle of it. "Stand _down_, Agent Barrett. I will not tell you again."

"I have a shot."

Barrett's voice was flat and cold. She had blood in her eyes.

"Agent Barrett—"

"He put my men in the hospital," she delivered hollowly. "He almost killed them, and he almost killed me. I have a shot…"

Gibbs glanced at Cobb—and Ziva—and knew that the only shot she could possibly have was a head shot; of a head that was dangerously close to Ziva's.

He took a steadying breath. "You will not take _any_ shot while he has a hostage, Special Agent Barrett."

Cobb nodded. "You should listen to your betters, Agent Barrett. They know what they're doing, especially Agent Gibbs—but then you already know that, don't you?"

"Stop talking!"

And then there was the note of unhinged desperation, the shake to Barrett's voice that told Gibbs he was losing control of the situation.

"DiNozzo, get her out of here—"

The younger man was already moving to intercept, but his hand missed her shoulder as she shied away from his touch. But the gun left lost its aim on Cobb.

"EJ, that's enough..." DiNozzo pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears.

Cobb tsked. "That's it, Barrett. Ignore him. Ignore him like you've ignored Agent Gibbs. It's good to see you don't give preferential treatment to the stooge your _fucking—"_

Gibbs saw her grip tighten a split second before the shot rang out.

And then all hell broke loose.


	8. Chapter 8

As soon as the shot fired, chaos reigned for several long, agonizing moments, and amid the shouts of alarm and flurry of movement that followed as his agents swarmed to disarm Barrett. But then he saw Ziva fall, and then Cobb's gun was leveled at the entering HR team—they saw, and filled him with enough lead to sink a sub.

But Gibbs didn't care. He didn't even see them kick the gun from the man's dead limp fingers. All he could see was Ziva, who had yet to roll over onto her back. She remained on her side, and as he waded through air as thick as molasses, he saw that she was struggling to breathe. And when he saw the blood pooling on the hardwood beneath her, fear nearly paralyzed him.

Real time kicked back in when his knees hit the floor, and he gently, carefully, rolled her onto her back. He heard her gasp in pain at the motion, but when her eyes tracked to him, he could see the relief in her tear-filled eyes. Just to the below her sternum, a deceptively small hole perforated her blouse, but it was soon obscured by rich rivulets of blood.

He cupped her uninjured cheek, as his right hand pressed firmly, unyieldingly, against her wound. It hurt her, he could see, but he'd rather see her in pain than see her dead.

"It's okay, Ziva," he told her, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He didn't succeed. "Just hang in there. The bus is coming— just stay with me…" Somewhere over his shoulder, Gibbs could hear someone shouting for an ambulance.

"Je—Jeth—" She couldn't quite push his name out past the pain. Her hands lifted, twisting against the cuffs to reach for him.

He brought his hand from her cheek down to grip her hand. Her fingers curled around his, but he couldn't help but notice that her grip was already weak.

McGee dropped down on her other side, stripping off his suit jacket and assumed the responsibility of applying pressure, leaving both of Gibbs' hands free to offer comfort. The wound was still oozing blood at a sickening rate, and the scrunched up coat quickly grew dark. Gibbs nodded brusquely in thanks towards the younger man, but McGee didn't see it. Instead, he was talking to Ziva.

"The ambulance is on its way, Ziva. You just gotta stay strong for a few more minutes." Gibbs heard the younger man's voice break, and tears were already coursing down his cheeks. "You're going to be okay, Ziva."

Brown eyes tracked back to Gibbs, and he nodded reassuringly, pleadingly. "Stay with me," he begged, even as she gasped for air. "Ziver… come on, sweetheart. You can do this…"

She had to. He couldn't consider the alternative. But her lids started to droop, and her head started to loll.

"ZIVA!"

Her eyes snapped open, and her eyes rolled as she looked for him. She was growing disoriented, and her skin had taken on a grey pallor. McGee's jacket was almost completely soaked through, but the man didn't cease the pressure.

Gibbs turned her head towards him, so that she was meeting his gaze once more.

"You listen to me," he told her, his voice low. "You are not going to die. Not today." His gut twisted at the fear in her eyes. "You hear me?"

Her features twisted into a wince as McGee increased the pressure, and when Gibbs glanced at him he could see panic beginning to set in. But he turned back to Ziva.

"You hear me?" he asked again, this time more insistent.

And this time, her head nodded, the motion shaky but undeniable. Her lips moved, and though no sound drifted up to him, he read her lips clear as day.

_I love you._

"No goodbyes," he returned gruffly, tears thickening his voice. "I'm not losing you too…" In the distance, he could hear the sirens that were bringing help closer by the second. "Hang on, Ziver. Please."

Her fingers tightened slightly around his, but a moment later they slackened once more, and this time, her eyes closed.

"Ziva…" He shook her sharply, but her eyes didn't open. "Ziva!" When he got no answer, he glared at McGee. "Don't you dare stop."

McGee shook his head in understanding, his eyes wide and afraid. Gibbs pressed his fingers first to Ziva's wrist, and then to her neck. After several long moments, he thought she was already gone. But then he found the faint flutter of a pulse.

He almost laughed in relief, just as the paramedics burst into the room.

Gibbs was shoved out of the way none too gently, and all he could do was watch helplessly as the EMTs frantically tried to save her.


	9. Chapter 9

They didn't let Gibbs ride in the ambulance with her. He was forced to watch them load her into the vehicle, close the doors, and then drive away. He stared after the fading, swirling lights for a long moment as the horror of reality settled over him like a blanket of doom.

A chink of metal on metal broke through the overwhelming silence in his ears, and he looked down to see Tony presenting him with a set of car keys.

"Let's go," the younger man said softly. "You drive."

Gibbs didn't hesitate, grabbing the keys and moving to the car they had driven to the apartment. "Barrett?" he growled.

"Vance has her," Tony responded dispassionately. "He's busy tearing her a new one."

Gibbs glanced at his agent. "And you're okay with that?"

Tony shrugged. "I got more important things to worry about."

McGee met them at the car, snapping his phone shut as the other two approached. "Abby's on her way to the hospital," he reported as they all slipped into the sedan. "She's going to meet us there."

"I bet she's freaking," Tony observed.

"We all are." Gibbs' voice was low, and almost drowned out by the engine turning over.

With a squeal of tires, they left the bloody scene behind.

* * *

><p>When Gibbs entered the emergency room waiting area, he was nearly bowled over by a tearful Abby. Long arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and strong, conveying all the empathy of shared knowledge she wouldn't speak of in front of the others. She was the only one who knew about his relationship with Ziva—she wouldn't betray the trust they'd placed in her, not even now.<p>

"They won't tell me anything other than they took her into surgery," she told him, her voice low. She pulled back, somberly wiping her mascara-smeared eyes. "Gibbs, what happened?"

"She was shot in a hostage situation," he told her. "Wait here."

She let him go, knowing that if anyone would be able to get any information out of the stubborn nurses at the desk, he would. Especially since he was Ziva's emergency contact and everything. She waited until he was out of sight, before rounding on McGee.

"What really happened, Timmy?" she demanded forcefully.

The man swallowed thickly. "Kort's lead was a bust. Cobb was waiting at Ziva's apartment. He was holding her hostage when we got there."

"But you said she was shot in the chest, Tim…"

"Cobb didn't shoot her," he clarified.

"What?"

"No," Tony chimed in, his voice dark. "It was friendly fire."

Abby's eyes widened. "_Friendly fire?_ Who would shoot the hostage?" For a long moment, no one said anything. But then she saw McGee's eyes track nervously to Tony. "Tony—tell me you didn't—"

She knew mistakes happened, but of all people, Tony wouldn't—he _couldn't_—

"Not Tony," McGee interrupted. "It was… Barrett."

Abby froze in confusion. "Barrett? I thought she was still in the hospital with her team—"

"She was released—"

"And you let her in the same room as Cobb? What, are you nuts? You didn't think for one moment that her judgement would be impaired?"

"Vance authorized it—"

"Yeah, and we all know how good his decisions have been lately! Barrett had a concussion! She can't just shake that off in a matter of hours. She had no business going in for the takedown. She should've been benched the minute she was loaded into the ambulance—"

"Abby, stop." Tim's voice was stern, and broke through her tirade. It was only then that she realized that Tony's features were creased with guilt. Instinctively, she moved to wrap her friend in a hug.

"It's not your fault," she told him softly. "You're not responsible for her actions."

"I should've known she wouldn't be able to keep her cool," he muttered darkly. "If I'd said something, Gibbs would've made her wait outside the room. But I didn't—It didn't even occur to me."

"You were worried about Ziva," Abby countered, pulling back to look him in the eye. "Your partner was being held hostage, and you were focused on getting her out alive. It's not your job to babysit a grown woman who should know her own limits. The only person to blame here is her."

Even as she said it, the angry fire in her gut flared, churning dangerous thoughts. Visions of murder with no evidence danced through her mind, only to be interrupted by Gibbs reentering the room.

"What's happening?" she asked quickly.

Gibbs shoved his hands in his pockets, and sure sign he was out of sorts. "She's still in surgery. The nurses at the desk didn't know anything more specific than that. But they've contacted the surgeons, and we'll get an update in the next half hour. If we don't, we're hereby authorized to keep after them until we do."

Silence fell over them like a blanket, the chill of the emergency room keeping them tense. At least, Abby tried to believe it was the cold making them tense—because there was no reason to worry. Ziva had lived through worse. And besides, the universe had already stolen one family from Gibbs. He couldn't lose Ziva too.

She remained close to Gibbs anyway, offering silent support. Well, she needed him near him as much as she figured he needed her. Usually, Gibbs was a rock. Now, though, he seemed anything but.

"Shit," he muttered, his tone dark and bitter with self-recrimination.

"What?" Abby asked, sitting at attention at the unexpected outburst.

Gibbs ran a hand over his face. "Chaka… He was the reason Ziva went over there in the first place, and I didn't even think…"

"Oh, no…" Abby whispered, horrified at the realization that the puppy—well, he wasn't a puppy anymore, was he?—had slipped her mind completely. "Do you think-?"

"I don't know, Abs," he told her, cutting her off before she could give voice to any of a gazillion bad things that could have befallen the dog. He got to his feet, the movement seeming to take more effort than she could imagine. "I'm going to make some calls."

Abby nodded, and watched him wander down the hall in search of a signal. In his absence, McGee slid into the empty seat beside her, settling in for the long haul. His presence was calm, and even though his features were heavy and solemn, Abby took comfort in his peaceful aura.

"Hey, Abs…" his voice was soft, low enough that Tony couldn't hear from his post by the window, where the senior agent stared out into hectic ER parking lot. Abby met his gaze, finding curiosity looking back at her.

"Yeah?" She hated how her voice rasped when she was scared.

"Have you noticed anything… different, between Gibbs and Ziva lately?"

Abby blinked, taken aback by the question. But then she realized, with everything that had happened today, she really wasn't _that_ surprised. He was an investigator, after all. "You mean at work?" she asked carefully.

He nodded.

"No, I haven't." Truth. They were professionals to the bone, and if Timmy left it at that, she wouldn't have to break either trust.

He sighed. "Me neither," he told her, resting his elbows on his knees. "But back at Ziva's apartment… when she was—" He caught himself, swallowing thickly. Abby knew he'd seen more than he could have ever wanted.

"When she was hurt," he finished finally, "when she was hurt he looked… scared. So freaking scared that—I wondered if there was something I'd been missing."

She tried not to look at him, really she did. But she could feel him staring at her, looking for clues, that she broke and met his gaze for a split second. And in that split second, he knew everything he needed to.

Shooting a furtive glance to Tony to make sure the other man was still oblivious to their conversation, he nodded. "They are, aren't they?"

For a moment, Abby weighed her options. She'd told Gibbs she wouldn't lie to hide his relationship with Ziva, and she meant it. But she didn't want to gossip, or tell a story that wasn't hers to tell.

In the end, she settled for something in between.

"I guess if you're asking, there's no point denying it…" A non-answer if she'd ever heard one. And when he eyed her with a quirked eyebrow, she took pity on him. "I don't think I've ever, _ever_ seen two people more…"

Her voice trailed off, the pain in her chest growing to the point that she didn't think she could think about it anymore. She stared at the lines crisscrossing the tiled floor beneath her boots.

"Please don't ask me about details, because I don't want to tell you. I don't want to _not _tell you either, but—it's not my place. Okay?"

His hand covered her laced fingers, which were worrying each other in her lap. "Okay," he promised simply. "I wasn't going to ask."

Her shoulders slumped slightly in relief. "Thanks, Timmy."

He smiled at her, but before he could say anything, his eyes tracked to a point over her far shoulder. Abby turned to see Gibbs striding back towards them, his features grim. She pulled away from McGee, crossing quickly to meet Gibbs halfway.

"What happened?" she asked quickly. "Did they find Chaka? Is he okay?"

Gibbs put his hands on her upper arms, quieting her gently. "He was in the bedroom," he responded softly. "Cobb shot him, but—"

"_Shot him?_ Who shoots an innocent dog-?"

"_But_," he continued, knowing her oncoming ramble was an attempt to postpone the bad news—that Chaka was dead, "but he's alive. One of the hostage rescue guys moonlights with the SPCA… he's already got Chaka at an emergency care facility. He even offered to stay and call us with updates, so—"

"So Chaka's gonna be okay?" Abby asked hopefully.

But Gibbs lips stayed in a grim line. "The officer says they got him the right care in time, but he's lost a lot of blood, and they aren't sure what kind of damage they're dealing with yet—"

"So he's gonna die? You can't let them put him down, Gibbs! He's a fighter! You have to—"

"He'll make it, Abby," Gibbs interrupted brusquely, silencing her worst case scenario.

She could feel the burn of tears creep back into her eyes, and all she knew was that there'd been too much loss today. It was too much. "You promise?"

"That mutt's too damned stubborn to die," he affirmed, wrapping her in a hug. She clung to him, absorbing as much of the steadfast resolve that had somehow returned in the few short minutes he'd been away. She didn't care where it had come from or how he had gotten it—it only mattered that her rock was back.

Because if he could believe it would all be okay, so could she.


	10. Chapter 10

Ziva's return to consciousness was slow. It was like wading through an ocean of cotton. Sounds were distorted, and she couldn't feel anything. But eventually, she could see washes of color, though she was somehow aware that her eyes were closed.

After a while, she had enough conscious thought to _want_ her eyes open, though they refused to obey. Like the rest of her body, her lids were weighted, limp, and unresponsive.

Instead she focused on the constant, warm presence in the periphery of her awareness. In time she came to realize the warmth was emanating from whatever was clutching her left hand. And then, as her coherency returned, she realized there was only one person who could possibly be waiting on the other side of the seemingly interminable ocean.

She fought harder to reach the surface, and as she got closer she could hear a voice urging her onward.

"_Come on, Ziver_," it said, soft and inviting. "_You can do it._"

And then, finally, a flash of _bright_ cut through the fading obscurity around her, and her eyes slammed shut against the unexpected pain it brought. But the pressure on her hand clutched her tighter in excitement, and the voice got even louder.

"_That's it,_" it commended, proud and patient. "_Come on, open your eyes."_

This time, she obeyed; the pain was expected, and she blinked it away—sluggishly, but no less determined.

Fuzzy, nondescript surroundings greeted her, but she barely noticed. All she could see was the hazy silhouette that was intimately familiar.

"G—Gibbs…" Her voice was barely there, but her still-sharpening sight revealed that the figure in question grinned broadly anyway.

The fingers on her hand traced soft circles against her skin, even as he leaned forward intently.

"Yeah, it's me," he confirmed. She could hear his relief, and with it came a dozen questions, none of which she had the strength to give voice to. Luckily, he seemed able to read her mind, even now. "You're in the hospital. You were shot in your apartment—you've been here for eighty-five hours now."

The mention of her apartment confused her for a moment, before memory came roaring back, and with it, panic. "_Chaka…_"

Her rasp brought a smile to his lips, and a roll to his eyes. He leaned forward, smoothing her hair from her brow. "Believe it or not, he was shot too. But he's going to make a full recovery." He gently brought her hand up, and pressed a kiss to her fingers. "You both are."

This time, it was she who felt the rush of relief. She sighed, and she could feel the sharp ache in her chest that told her she was still injured. Remembering the shot that had taken both her and Cobb by surprise, she recognized how lucky she was—and how good her drugs were at the moment.

"Hey," Jethro said softly, catching her wavering attention. She looked up at him, already feeling the fatigue creeping back over her. "You have some visitors."

He pointed over his nose, not relinquishing his grip on her, towards the large window off to her left. With an effort that was far more gargantuan than she could've imagined, she turned her head, and saw the huddle of bodies she recognized to be her friends—her family.

She saw broad smiles all around, and a few of them waved. Their faces wouldn't quite come into focus, but the dark bouncing head she knew was Abby. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she suspected the Goth would be fairly vibrating with excitement right now.

Fighting back waves of exhaustion, she smiled at them—in thanks and reassurance. Or at least, she thought she did. She couldn't quite tell anymore.

Her eyes drifted back to Jethro, and she wondered how much of their relationship he'd revealed to them. How much would they have to hide, here in a public hospital, where anyone could see. Did Jethro explain to them, or had they merely deduced the truth for themselves. Or maybe Abby had sped along the process of revealing everything. But the most important question—How much did the team know?

How much had they seen?

Again, Jethro read her mind as easily as he would a book. He gripped her hand tight, and looked deep into her eyes.

"I don't care."

This time, when he kissed her, the tenderness brought tears to her eyes. When he stood, she thought he might actually kiss her on the lips, but to her surprise, he started to move away.

Concern washed over her, and she clutched his fingers, refusing to loosen her purchase on him. He turned back, worry creasing his features as he met her gaze once more. But before he could ask _what's wrong_, she was forcing another rasp past her lips.

"_Stay?"_

His eyes warmed, and he squeezed her fingers twice in reassurance. "The doctors are coming to look you over," he told her, and she could tell he was be extra careful to speak clearly. She was grateful for it. "They need me out of the way for that, but I won't leave the room, I promise."

The vow was enough for her. With a sigh of acceptance, she released him. As soon as she did so, figures in white coats spilled into the room, clipboards in hand. But her connection with the realm of consciousness was severed when Jethro pulled away, and as the sea of doctors swarmed around her, she slipped once more into the deep.

She welcomed the darkness now, knowing that when she next had the strength to open her eyes, he would still be there.

Waiting.

_A/N: No way am I done with Barrett. As I said, I prolly won't kill her in this story, but I'm still considering it a viable possibility. Especially after the finale. Either way, there will still be considerable EJ-bashing here. Cuz, as several reviewers have mentioned, she'd freaking annoying and a definite security threat. :D_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Zivacentric, because she's amazing and wonderful, and to Geekery15, because she gives the most amazing reviews- together, they warm my fuzzy little heart._

_Now, I just realized I'm not sure exactly where I'm ending this, but I foresee no more than three chapters in the future. Hopefully, this fic hasn't disappointed anyone like I was disappointed by the canon finale._

* * *

><p>Gibbs sighed in relief as the doctors gave him reassurance upon on reassurance that Ziva was fine—just sleeping, which they expect her to be doing a lot of in the next few days.<p>

Gibbs knew the drill, having seen his buddies recover from gunshots more than once, but it was still good to hear. Because despite his past experiences, this could have been the one time something didn't add up, and she died. But it wasn't, he told himself. She was fine.

He waited until the doctors drifted out of the room, and saw the last one speak softly to the team, still waiting at the window.

He settled back into the chair he'd been living in for the past four days, and took up his vigil once more. His hand found hers, and while her fingers were chill from the brisk temperature of the room, his touch quickly warmed them. It was a sure sign that she was healing; she'd been so pale and cold from blood loss earlier that not even the thick blankets they'd draped over her had helped.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually, Ducky came in, and pressed a hand to his shoulder.

"I'm taking the others out for a bite to eat," the doctor told him, his voice low. "They've gone far too long without a proper meal."

Gibbs nodded. "Good."

"I assume that you don't need to be reminded to contact any of us should there be any change in her condition?" Ducky prompted, to which Gibbs gave a wry smirk. "I didn't think so," the doctor deduced. "Shall we bring something back for you?"

Gibbs shook his head, but it was for naught.

"Excellent," he was told cheerily. "You'll love the lasagna, I believe. It's quite tasty…"

Ducky's voice faded out of earshot as the Scotsman departed, and then, when the room was silent once more, his focus returned to the woman lying on the hospital bed in front of him. The room was too quiet—the noise of the machines monitoring her heart rate, and the steady whoosh of the nasal canula under her nose, seemed almost deafening in his ears.

"Abby's been worried out of her mind about you," he said softly.

She wouldn't hear him, but for the first time, talking eased the tension in his gut.

"You're gonna have to start waking up longer if you want her to start sleeping again. But I don't think anyone's been sleeping. I haven't. Ducky's been watching over the others, and McGee's been looking after Abby… and DiNozzo, well—he's been barely capable of looking after himself, so—"

His voice caught dangerously in his throat. "You're going to get better, Ziver, because if you don't… well, a lot of people are going to fall apart."

He shifted forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the mattress. For a long moment, he didn't know what to say. He'd never been good with words. Neither was she. But somehow, together, they always knew what they needed, when it mattered most.

This didn't seem like one of those times though. She couldn't even hear him, and if she did, she wouldn't remember it.

But then again, he observed to himself, maybe that meant it didn't matter what he said. All he needed was noise, to block out the sound of the machines.

"I was thinking," he said, at first hesitant, but then gaining momentum as he pushed himself farther into conversation. "Your apartment's trashed. Between the blood, the gunpowder, the broken glass, and all the damage the rescue team did…"

It had been a mess. It seemed like no room had been spared. Even the bedroom was tainted—the bed had been soaked with blood from Chaka's injury, or so he'd been told.

"I think it'd be a good chance for us to take that last step we were talking about. I—I want you to come home, Ziver," he confessed, his voice thick. He tried to shake it off, turning the conversation in a brighter direction. "You're not gonna like this, but you're gonna need a lot of help while you're recovering from this. And I—well, I wanted this to be a surprise, but I was going to meet with a contractor next week, to see about expanding the kitchen."

She'd told him multiple times that his kitchen was awful to use. It was old, the light did nothing for it, and it was unbearably small. The fact he barely used meant his appliances—the ones she hadn't yet replaced already—were just as old and of questionable functionality. It had been more than enough for him, but for her, it just wasn't adequate. And he'd realized that as soon as she had shown him her own kitchen.

It had been on his mind for months, and he was going to surprise her with the plans as soon as they'd been drawn up.

"It looks like now you'll be in on the process from the get-go," he told her. "But that's probably better anyways. You know what you need better than I do, especially when it comes to counter space. And when we're done with the kitchen, we'll remodel the rest of the house."

He paused then, a thought occurring to him.

"Well, not you," he amended. "I'll do the house—you'll just make the decisions. And I'll remind you later when you can actually hear me, but—there's no way I'm gonna let you overwork yourself. You're gonna take it easy, and then we're going to move forward…"

He pulled his uncharacteristic soliloquy to a halt. Jesus—listen to him. Going on and on about home repair to an unconscious woman. But as ridiculous as it seemed, a question still lingered on his lips, but he knew that he could not give voice to it. Not here, not now.

She would be healthy, safe at home, when he finally asked this particular question. In the days when her life had hung in the balance, he'd kicked himself for not asking it sooner, but now he had a chance to do it right. Like she deserved.

"I love you, Ziver," he murmured softly, pulling her fingers to his lips once more, letting the words drift over her skin.

"_Wow—"_

The unexpected voice from the doorway had Gibbs' head turning so fast his neck twinged. But the pain of the pinched nerve immediately faded to burning anger when he recognized the small form of Special Agent Barrett—that is, if she was still an agent after the stunt she pulled.

However, considering the woman lying on the bed, he reminded himself that it had been a little bit more than a damn stunt.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, getting to his feet. He kept himself between the woman and Ziva, responding to his desire to protect her.

Barrett shrugged. "I came here to offer my condolences—"

"Condolences? You're the one who caused this!"

"My apologies, then," the woman countered. Gibbs could see she was exhausted—she was pale, and the dark circles below her eyes were clearly evident. Her hair was dull and unbrushed, and her features were altogether haggard. But there was a gleam in her eye that put Gibbs on edge. "But the thing is… I was coming to apologize for hurting your agent—I didn't realize I had shot your girlfriend too."

"I'm surprised Vance cut you loose so soon," Gibbs returned smoothly, diverting attention from the truth she'd caught hold of.

Barrett took it in stride. "Four days of interrogation is more than enough for anyone," she retorted, her voice suddenly hard. "You'd think being a decorated special agent in charge of a commended team would earn you a little more respect than being treated like a common criminal."

"You shoot another agent, you become a common criminal, regardless of who your uncle is." Gibbs eyed her angrily, and earned some small satisfaction as her eyes widened at the mention of her relation to SECNAV.

"I'll convey your _condolences_," he continued, though he knew he sure as hell wouldn't mention anything of her visit to Ziva. "Leave. Now."

But to his irritation, she didn't budge. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs," she said slowly, rolling his name over her tongue, as though tasting it. "Special Agent legend and crime fighter extraordinaire…" She smirked.

"I wonder what the world's going to think when they find out that their precious hero is diddling his subordinate—"

Her words trailed off into a grunt of pain as Gibbs reacted—pinning the woman to the wall with his forearm, he leaned in close, only to have Barrett chuckle. "Someone's touchy…" she tsked, wholly undaunted by the show of aggression.

Gibbs was careful to keep his rage in control. He'd told Ziva he didn't care who knew about their relationship—he didn't, not anymore. This whole goddamn mess had been enough of a wakeup call that perspective had well and truly made it through his stubborn skull.

But he'd be damned if the relationship they'd been hiding for so long—that he'd been holding so close to his heart—was going to be used as blackmail, or worse.

But looking into her eyes, Gibbs realized that she'd been more than interrogated in the past few days. She'd been let go, fired—not charged, which would have made Gibbs feel better, but the fact she was there and not in custody was proof enough that she'd dodged that particular bullet—and now she wanted to take him down with her.

Maybe, months from now, she'd realize that the mistake had been hers, that she'd made her own choices and was suffering the consequences, but right then, all she wanted was blood. His blood. She already had Ziva's.

"You're gonna want to leave, right now," he told her, his voice low and unyielding.

"Maybe I do," she concurred smoothly. "Maybe my first stop will be the Director's office—"

"What, he's not on your speed dial anymore?" he returned sharply. The smug victory was chased from her features, and he was able to see the dragon lurking beneath. He didn't care. "I don't give a damn what you do," he told her, "but you will not do this here—"

"Do what here?"

The familiar deep voice of the director caught both their attention. Gibbs turned his head to regard his superior, and only then, very reluctantly, did he release Barrett. The woman helped him by shoving his arm away as soon as the pressure relented.

"Director," she stated sharply, pushing past Gibbs to face off squarely with the man in question, "I was just about to contact you."

"In regards to what?" Vance returned smoothly. Gibbs sensed immediately that Barrett wasn't going to get the reaction she was looking for. He was too far too placid.

Barrett slid a triumphant look to Gibbs over her shoulder. "I have reason to believe that Agent Gibbs and Agent David have been engaging in a personal relationship, sir."

"So do I."

Barrett blinked. "Excuse me, sir?"

"I believe they're engaging in a personal relationship as well, Ms. Barrett, and it's already been taken under consideration."

Gibbs almost grinned when he saw Barrett sputter incoherently for a moment in indignation. "_Under consideration?_" She got out finally. "It's against NCIS protocol!"

"I see you haven't reviewed your policy manual in some time, Ms. Barrett. It's merely discouraged, and often only results in personnel being transferred to another team. However, that is something I prefer not to discuss with non-personnel." His dark eyes hardened. "I also believe that when I instructed you to pack your desk and leave the premises, I did not mean for you to come and harass Agent Davidand her visitors."

"But—"

"Leave now, or I will request that hospital security escort you from the building." His tone brooked no argument, and Gibbs watched in amusement as Barrett hesitated only a moment more before storming away with a huff.

The two men waited in silence until they saw the woman turn the corner, and then they shared a long, mutually regarding stare as they sized each other up. In the end, Gibbs was the one to speak first.

"I'm the senior agent," he said simply. "If there's going to be any repercussions, they'll fall to me."

"No repercussions have been decided upon, Gibbs, but I do expect honest answers to any questions I have for you and Agent David."

Gibbs nodded. "Fine. We're done hiding," he told him. "We were thinking about coming to you soon anyway. But you don't ask her any questions until she's recovered."

This time, Vance was the one who nodded. "Agreed. In this case, the damage has been done—there's no time-sensitive issue." He tucked a hand into his pocket, his gaze drifting to where Ziva still slept soundly. "How long has this been going on, Gibbs?"

"Four years next month." Gibbs couldn't keep a hint of pride from creeping into his response. Considering everything that had happened in those four years, what they still shared was a miracle.

Apparently, Vance realized that too. "Jesus—" The Director's shifted from shock to anger, and then just as quickly it neutralized into cool acceptance. "I can't guarantee anything at this point," Vance said finally. "But both you and Agent David have good records. That'll help."

"I'll retire if it comes down to it," Gibbs countered. "DiNozzo's ready to pick up the reins, and I—" His eyes traveled to Ziva once more. "I know what's important this time."

Vance regarded him for a long moment, but eventually only smirked. "The Great Leroy Jethro Gibbs, retired?" he posed good naturedly. "I'd pay money to see that."

Gibbs arched a brow at him. "I've done it before, Leon."

"Yeah, and see how long that lasted…"


	12. Chapter 12

"Okay, easy now… take it slow." The glare Ziva sent Gibbs' way fell on undaunted features. "I mean it," he told her firmly. "It's doctor's orders, and if you don't follow them, I'll take you back to the hospital myself."

"You wouldn't—"

"Try me."

He watched her lips part in shock, but she couldn't hide the amused sparkle in her eyes. Gibbs had thought she'd be more out of it, since the doctors had authorized a bigger dose of painkillers than usual at the hospital for the ride home. Her release was contingent on her being well-medicated and restricted to bed rest, and Gibbs was determined to see it through. The only reason he was going along with it in the first place was that she wasn't sleeping at the hospital.

Too stressed, too wary—he didn't know exactly why, but the doctors wanted to see if she could sleep without sedatives in her own home, and thus reduce the risk of her becoming dependent on the drugs.

And that left him in his driveway, with Ziva leaning heavily on him as they tried to make it into the house. And to her credit, she was mobile—just slow moving. Still heavily bandaged, but the only danger in moving her home was opening the door for her to start overworking herself. She was healing, and he was glad to see she hadn't lost her spark.

"All right," she conceded, a smile in her voice if not on her lips. "Fine, you win. Let's just get inside, all right?"

He grinned, trying not to seem too triumphant. "Hold on…" Then, gently, he picked her up and carried her inside. She came quietly, and looped one arm around his neck while bracing her wound with the other.

But when her sight fell on the couch—which had been pulled out into the collapsible bed it was—he felt her smile against his chest.

"Chaka..."

An excited whine answered her, and the dog on the bed thumped his tail loudly against the mattress. Gibbs set Ziva down with care, and then stepped back to watch his two patients greet each other. They were certainly a pair—Ziva was pale, and Chaka was much more subdued than he usually was. The dog sported a large white bandage—which was changed daily—and Ziva's motions were stiff as she lavished the mutt with affection.

"Abby brought him home yesterday," Gibbs told her. "Normally, he would have stayed at the vet a little longer while I stayed at the hospital with you, but since you were released, I figured you both could recuperate at home."

"You have his medications?" Abby had been tasked with reporting to Ziva everything regarding Chaka's treatment while she was stuck in the hospital.

"Yup," he answered smugly. "And don't let him fool you… Abby says he nearly pulled her arm off when she was bringing him in last night."

Ziva grinned—the first full-blown smile she'd smiled in weeks. It was only then that Gibbs realized how withdrawn she'd gotten during the P2P investigation, and he kicked himself for not having noticed it earlier.

But maybe being home would help her relax—just like the doctors hoped it would. Gibbs had already put in for time off, which had been approved in record time, and he knew for a fact that Abby had too. Not as much time as him, but still enough to help out in the next week or so, which he hoped would be enough to get Ziva back on her feet.

And hearing the clomp of heavy boots coming in from the kitchen told him that the scientist in question was already there.

"Ziva! You're home!" The greeting was more of a squeal than a shout, and the tray of food in her hands was the only thing that kept her from throwing her arms around her friend. Gibbs saw white cords trailing from her ears—damn Ipods—which explained why their entrance hadn't immediately sent her sprinting to greet them.

Gibbs took the tray from her hands, and she pulled the buds from her ears.

"I made dinner—for all of you. There's some soft canned food for Chaka, and tomato soup for Ziva—" Abby was going too fast to see Ziva's nose wrinkle in disgust, but Gibbs saw it, and fought not to grin. "And Gibbs, you get soup and grilled cheese." She plucked the flower the vase that adorned the tray. "And this is for Ziva!"

With a flourish, she presented it to Ziva, who accepted it with a smile. "Thank you, Abby."

But even Abby could see the lines around her friend's eyes, and she tsked sternly. "You need to rest," she stated bluntly.

"I've been resting for the past two weeks—"

"Not enough, or you wouldn't be here right now," Gibbs pointed out, letting Abby help Ziva get comfortable and covered with a blanket before setting the tray down over her legs. Instantly, Chaka went for the grilled cheese, but a stern word from Ziva had him shrinking back guiltily. Ziva set the dish of dog food in front of him, and the dog immediately began to lap at it hungrily.

Ziva, for her part, merely spooned her soup around disinterestedly. Gibbs knew she was sick of soup—it was all they'd allowed her at the hospital, since the bullet had nicked her esophagus on the way through, and anything more solid could rip it open completely. But he had some chicken broth in the cupboard—he'd heat some up once Abby left for the night.

"Maybe I'd rest more if people stopped telling me I need to rest," she countered grumpily.

Abby grinned at Gibbs, her amusement at Ziva's mood apparent. But she got the message loud and clear.

"I'll head home," she said lightly. "Take it easy, both of you. And call if you need anything. Or want to talk. Or have any questions about Chaka. Or—"

"We'll call, Abs," Gibbs assured her, escorting her to the door. She grabbed her purse, jacket and umbrella from a hook by the entryway. "We promise. Now go get some rest. We'll see you tomorrow."

She nodded. "Gotcha." She peered around him to get one last glimpse of Ziva, who was still swirling her soup around. "She's tired, huh?"

Gibbs smirked. "Yeah. The drive took more outta her than she expected, I think. She doesn't like being reminded she's fragile."

"Yeah…" She shrugged. "Okay, well, take good care of her, okay?"

"You know I will," he told her.

She kissed him on the cheek. "I know you will. McGee said he'd try to stop by tomorrow too."

"That's fine." McGee had taken the revelation of their relationship in stride. He hadn't asked any questions, or even mentioned it at all. It was only Abby's hushed report and the nod of acknowledgement that first night that gave Gibbs any hint that the younger man knew.

Even now, he didn't know if Tony had put it all together. He certainly hoped so—while they'd refrained from blatant displays of affection, out of respect for the others, but they hadn't hidden anything. But his senior field agent hadn't approached him about it yet, which surprised him. He'd thought he would've hunted him down the minute things quieted down, especially about the grief he'd been given about Barrett and Rule 12.

But he had bigger things to worry about. Turning back to his charges—both canine and human alike—he shut the door and let a grin curl his lips.

"How about some chicken soup?"


	13. Chapter 13

**WARNING: This chapter is rated M for language. One F-bomb. If you read it, you'll realize why I couldn't censor it. I just couldn't!**

* * *

><p>Tony slammed the drawer of his desk shut, straightening to look out over the empty bullpen. The MCRT was on official downtime for another week, but he'd decided to come in and do some paperwork.<p>

He'd been going crazy at home, with nothing to do but think and sink deeper into guilt and self-loathing. But being here—it hadn't really been as much of a help as he'd hoped. Instead of his own personal failings, he could shake the sense that he'd failed professionally.

Glaring at the two desks across the pen from his, he could almost see his partner, and his boss, smirking back at him. But he shook himself out of it—he wasn't going to think about it. He didn't want to; there was too much to wrap his head around. And he had time to come to terms… putting it off a few more days wouldn't hurt.

But now his paperwork was done, and there were no more excuses for him to not go home. He tucked his phone into his pocket and put on his coat. With keys in hand, he left the bullpen, without giving the empty desks another glance.

It wasn't until he reached his car that his calm was shattered. For there, leaning against his car, was an all too familiar strawberry blonde—the last person he wanted to see today. Well… ever, if he was honest with himself. He almost turned, before she looked up and saw him, but then his pride—and anger—got the better of him.

He would not be scared away from his own car.

"I've been trying to call you," EJ said, her voice brusque, but almost gentle. It was a strange combination, and absolutely rubbed him the wrong way.

"And I've been trying to ignore you," he returned with a shrug. "So what?"

At least she had the decency to look guilty. Not that it made her disappear or anything, like he would've preferred. "I wanted to apologize."

"I'm not the one who needs the apology."

"Well, I've been told to stay away from Ziva so—"

"Good. The first right decision Vance has made when it comes to you—"

"Hey!" Her tone instantly shifted to one of indignation, rather than regret. "I earned my spot in Rota, and you know it!" He raised an eyebrow at her, and she immediately backed down. "Look, I made mistakes, I realize that…"

"Mistakes?" he asked incredulously. "Your _mistake_ put my partner in the hospital for three weeks! You almost killed her! Do you expect me to just forget that?"

"No, not forget. But maybe a little understanding isn't so much to ask for," she told him. She looked up at him, her eyes piercing. "You know what it's like to lose a team member—"

"Don't you _dare._"

His voice dropped, and his mood went from barely tolerant to icy in the space of a heartbeat. She sensed the danger, and he watched her features pale at the abrupt change.

"Don't you dare try to use Kate's death to justify your fuck-up," he growled. "You—I can't even—"

He paused, catching his breath, and tamping down the rage that threatened to overcome the gentleman in him. Finally, he opted for the high road.

"Get away from my car," he commanded harshly. He was leaving. He was done talking.

She obeyed, but only to take a step towards him. "Tony, I—"

"No." He shut her down before she could even start. "Kate—her death was… tragic. Abrupt. Completely unforeseeable." The words burned in his throat. He didn't want to be talking about Kate- not to her. But it needed to be said. She needed to know that Kate was special- sacred, even.

"There was nothing more we could have done to protect her," he finished finally. His eyes narrowed into a glare. "But _you_ were completely avoidable. And that's on me. I should've known better—I could've saved my partner this time."

He eyed her, unable to hide his disdain. "I'm just lucky that she made it anyway. No thanks to either of us."

She stared at him, shocked, but then her features settled into resignation. "So I guess… you and I. That's it?"

"That's it."

A nod answered him. She stepped out of his way, and he brushed past her to climb into his car. Before he could, though, her voice cut through the humid silence of the parking garage one last time.

"I'll be away from my place between 10 and 2 tomorrow, if you want to get your stuff—"

"Pitch it," he cut in abruptly, his voice flat. "There's nothing there I can't do without."

With that, he settled behind the wheel, and shut the door on the woman he'd thought might be the one.

And then he drove away without a second thought.


	14. Chapter 14

McGee knocked loudly on the heavy wooden door in front of him. It had become familiar in the past few weeks, he had to admit—just as had the scenes hidden within.

"It's open!" came the answered call from inside.

Without further ado, he twisted the knob, and opened the door. He heard the scrabble of dog nails on hardwood as Chaka came tearing towards him, and turned just in time to catch the dog before he was bowled over. "Hey, buddy," he said warmly, accepting the fervent, wet kisses without complaint. "Sorry, no Jethro this time. I'll bring him next week, okay?"

A whine answered him, and the dog moved back to let McGee enter deeper into the Gibbs household. Turning the corner, he found the human residents ensconced on the living room couch. The picture was so incredibly domestic, but equally comfortable and at ease that he was caught halfway between feeling pleasantly surprised and somewhat voyeuristic.

Ziva sat with her back against the nearest arm of the couch, her legs relaxed along the seat cushions. Her knees were casually bent, and her feet rested in Gibbs' lap. But instead of pushing them away, Tim saw that his boss was giving one delicate foot a massage, his hands were working deliberately, with expert precision, as he kneaded the arch of her foot.

"Hey, guys," Tim greeted casually, trying not to let his nervousness show. He entered the living room to show them the brown paper bag he held in his hand. "Abby suggested we have some Thai today, to celebrate Ziva's first day back on Monday."

Ziva's dark head turned to give him a smile. "Thanks, McGee."

Her voice was thick and congested, and sympathy washed over Tim like a wave. He knew what that meant, and he only now saw the pillow she clutched to her chest.

"Aw, Ziv—you're sneezing again?"

A sharp, savage _achoo_ answered his question for him. Her arms tightened around her pillow, and her features grimaced in pain. She was mostly healed, it was true, but there was still a great deal of tenderness. The bullet that had torn through her torso—nicking her esophagus on its way and barely missing her lung to boot—had left her with deep tissue damage that was equivalent to having been hit by a car. So while she wouldn't be bleeding out anytime soon, the deep bruising would linger for some weeks yet.

Which was the reason why her return to work included only deskwork—field duty was expressly verboten.

Instead of voicing his pity, he did what he knew Ziva would prefer, and changed the subject. "What did Vance decide to do about the team?" he asked warily.

Gibbs regarded his agent carefully. It was clear that McGee wasn't altogether certain he wanted to know the answer. But Gibbs knew he'd probably be surprised. He certainly had been, when Vance had stopped by yesterday to deliver the verdict—hell, he still was…

_Just past noon, Vance and Gibbs sat alone in the living room. It was a brighter, more vibrant place than it had a few weeks ago. Ahead of them, the doorway to the kitchen was shrouded in plastic, belying the work that was just still underway. Ziva was upstairs napping, Chaka with her, leaving the two men to discuss business alone._

"_I'm curious," Vance had said, his tone easy and familiar—not the voice of the director Gibbs had come to detest, but rather the agent he had once trusted. "What do you expect would've come from this, once the truth about you and Agent David had come out?"_

_Gibbs had regarded him with a cool look, undaunted by any prospect that Vance could deliver. He had what counted—and he knew she wasn't going anywhere. "I lose my job— or my team. Slap on the wrist, maybe. Maybe forced retirement."_

"_And you didn't even think about what would happen to Agent David's career?"_

_He'd shrugged. "It was her decision too, Leon. I didn't force her into anything." He took a sip of coffee from the USMC mug he held in his hand. "Besides… She always told me she'd never get promoted very far anyway—it wouldn't really matter who she was dating."_

_Vance had smirked. "She's a girl who knows the game very well." He fixed Gibbs with a firm look. "She's absolutely right. She'd never progress past senior field agent, not with her history as Mossad. But that doesn't mean there isn't an ethical issue with her dating her immediate superior."_

"_So I retire."_

"_You really think SECNAV would be willing to let you go so soon after making the most important bust of the year?" Vance scoffed. "Don't be an idiot, Gibbs. It doesn't suit you."_

_Gibbs arched a brow at him. "Then what's your plan, Leon? Transfer her to another team?" He shook his head. "That's not going to fly, and you know it. She'd intimidate anyone brave enough to even try taking her on a trial basis, and the bottom line is that she trusts __**us**__. We're her family."_

"_And that's why you're both damn lucky your family is as good as it is," Vance returned smoothly._

_Gibbs paused. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"_

_Vance smirked, maybe a little smugly. "It means that both you and Agent David have been cleared to remain on the Major Case Response Team." Gibbs's brow arched, but before he could speak, Vance went on. "That doesn't mean there aren't conditions that have to be met."_

"_Like what?"_

"_Agent David's evaluations and discipline regarding NCIS policy becomes Agent DiNozzo's responsibility," Vance elaborated. "He's more than qualified to start taking on some supervisory responsibility for the team, and this will actually help your team maintain some semblance of professionalism. And, if for any reason Agent David's well-being is endangered, DiNozzo will automatically take point. That means undercover missions, hostage situations, or any other similar variation thereof. He will take point, rendering your potentially comprised judgement as close to a nonissue as humanly possible."_

_Gibbs blinked in surprise. "That's it?"_

"_That, and you have to keep it out of the office. Check your baggage at the door, because absolutely no one wants to see your dirty laundry in the bullpen. Is that understood?"_

_He nodded. "Absolutely."_

_Vance nodded, content with the assured response. His eyes had traveled around the room, taking in the apparent changes in décor. "Ziva's got a good touch… I like what you've done to the place."_

"DiNozzo will handle Ziva's evaluations," Gibbs said, returning to the present. "He should've already passed word along already."

"He did," DiNozzo himself announced, entering the room without fanfare. "And I'm game." His voice was loud and brusque—forcibly chipper, Gibbs could tell, no matter how he tried to hide it. Tony's nose crinkled as he sniffed the air. "Wow, is that Thai from the new place in town?"

McGee regarded him for a long moment, stunned. "Well, yeah—how did you know?"

"Smelled it, McProbester…" came the smug reply. "And I saw the bag. Whatcha got in there?"

Tony reached for the bag, only for McGee to pull it swiftly out of reach. A game of keep-away ensued, and both Gibbs and Ziva watched on intently. Ziva was amused—the spectacle kept her focus off the pain in her ribs. But Gibbs remained stony-faced.

DiNozzo had visited the least out of anybody. Even Palmer had stopped by more often than him. And while McGee, Abby and Ducky had all come by solo, DiNozzo had only ever visited while someone else was there as well. He was making it a point to not spend any alone time with Ziva, that much was obvious. What wasn't so clear cut was _why_.

Either he was still feeling guilty for what Barrett had done—and his inability to foresee that she would crack under the pressure— or he was pissed. Either way, Gibbs hoped Ziva hadn't noticed that her partner was holding back. Things had been rocky between them for a long time. They had just been close to getting back to normal when Barrett had shown up and Tony had begun to shut her out again. If she found out that he was deliberately avoiding her now… they'd be finished as partners.

Even so, despite his intuition, Gibbs couldn't be sure Tony had even come to the same realization the rest of the team had. It had been over a month since the truth had come out— albeit to only certain people—and Tony still hadn't said a thing to Gibbs about it.

At first, he'd thought the younger man actually hadn't put two and two together. But by now, four had bit him on the ass, and still nothing. It made Gibbs nervous.

By the time Abby joined them, the squabble between the two agents eased, and the Thai had been passed around. McGee and Ziva fell into a discussion, which Abby joined as soon as she arrived. That left DiNozzo and Gibbs both lingering on the periphery, grunting here and nodding there to maintain their cover of actually being interested.

But after a while, Gibbs felt DiNozzo's focus shift to him. He ignored it for a few moments, but then met his agent's gaze head on. What he found was a mixture of anger, betrayal, and utter disappointment, all wrapped up in a dark, hooded stare.

And it was only in that moment that he realized that the storm was only just beginning.

* * *

><p><em>That's it! Done! <em>

_Eventually, I'll start up the next installment of the Something verse. However, in this instance, I have a lot of other stuff I'm trying to finish, so bear with me. Thanks to all of you who read and reviewed! The reply service is kinda bunk on this site now, but I appreciate each and every one of them!_

_-CSIGurlie  
><em>


End file.
